


o with what wings shall his affections fly

by Sinna



Series: Birds of a Feather [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon typical Roth being a terrible person, Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Rothfrye is not endgame it's just central to the story so I figured I'd warn for it, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 17:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/pseuds/Sinna
Summary: “Bones are so delicate, aren’t they, darling?”Jacob flew too close to the sun, and now he has to live with the consequences.





	o with what wings shall his affections fly

Jacob doesn't notice the pain at first. He's too caught up in the press of Roth's lips against his own, and the heady mix of emotions that accompany the sensation. Disgust and desire war within him and he can’t bring himself to move – torn between the need to press closer and the equally strong need to pull away. So instead he stays still, except for his lips moving against Roth's own, still uncontrollably drawn in despite everything he knows.

He hears the snap of breaking bone, but it's indistinguishable from the pop and hiss of the fire surrounding them.

It’s only when he finally pulls himself away – and Roth's weakened hand drops to the ground – that the pain finally asserts itself.

Roth chokes out a final laugh.

“Bones are so delicate, aren’t they, darling?”

Jacob feels lightheaded, and he’s not sure if it’s from the pain or the smoke (or the kiss) or the sheer horror as he realizes what Roth has done.

He stumbles to his feet and begins looking for a way out. His left wing hangs uselessly from his shoulder, making him wince as every movement aggravates the injury.

He does his best to tuck it away and searches for an escape on foot. The smoke in the air clogs up his lungs, and his dragging wing throws off his balance so badly he finds himself stumbling even where there's nothing to catch his feet.

His body is suddenly so heavy. Years of living attached to the earth’s surface by only the thinnest thread and suddenly he’s stuck crawling along the ground. Part of the roof collapses almost at his feet, and the glimpse of blue sky mocks him with its sudden hopeless distance.

Eventually he finds a door that isn’t blocked by the fire and stumbles out of the Alhambra. Just in time, too. The building has finally given up any attempt to stand upright, and the very door he came out is quickly crushed under the weight of the collapsing building.

There's an ornamental fountain in the center of Leicester Square and Jacob stumbles his way into it, not caring who sees him. He needs to wash the blood off his hands and the smell of smoke out of his feathers. There's nothing he can do for the broken wing – not here – but at least the cool water helps him get his head back together.

“Well don’t you look awful,” a voice remarks behind him.

Jacob twists his head around and sees Evie, arms folded over her chest and a strange look on her face. It takes a moment to remember that that’s what she looks like when she’s really worried about something, or someone. Evie isn’t much of a worrier. The last time she’d looked like that, Father had been on his deathbed.

“I promise I don’t intend to drown in a public fountain, sweet sister,” Jacob teases – or tries to.

Somehow, the tone comes out all wrong.

Evie sighs.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to the train.”

Jacob struggles his way out of the fountain. He hadn’t considered that the extra water weight in his clothes would make it harder to move.

“How did you find me?” he asks as she helps him out of his soaking coat. “Why are you even here?”

“I was in the area and I heard screaming,” she says offhandedly. “It wasn’t hard to guess the source.”

Her eyes flick pointedly between him and the still-burning theater.

As usual, her coolheadedness is what gives her away.

“You were following me,” Jacob accuses.

She doesn’t bother trying to deny it.

“You were sneaking off to meet with the leader of the Blighters.”

“Former leader,” Jacob corrects her.

“He's dead?”

Jacob nods. Evie's face doesn’t change.

Normally, Jacob would be whining about how he’s owed at least one “congratulations” for taking out one of their enemies – maybe even a “thank you” – but, well, this death isn’t one he’s proud of.

“I have a carriage nearby,” she says. “Think you can make it, or should I have the Rooks bring it around?”

“I can make it,” Jacob insists.

He and Evie both know he’s pushing himself too hard, but she says nothing and lets him preserve his pride. He’s leaning on her more than walking with his own power by the time they make it to the carriage, but he’s still on his feet.

“Boss!”

The woman driving the carriage is named… Rachel, Jacob thinks.

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Nothing a little rest won’t fix.”

Evie helps him into the carriage.

“St Pancras Station,” she tells Rachel. “Quickly.”

They take off like the devil himself is behind them. Jacob thinks that he might be, but he’s lying dead on a burning stage, so there's no reason to rush.

Evie isn’t one for pointless platitudes, so the ride is mostly silent, aside from Jacob's ragged breathing and occasional coughs or gasps of pain. The only remnant of that worried look from earlier is in how tightly she holds his hand.

They arrive in St Pancras Station and the train is waiting. Evie must have sent someone ahead to hold it.

Jacob lets Evie and Rachel half-carry him from the carriage to the train. It’s not his finest moment, but the pain is getting to him. Despite his best efforts, he breathed in a fair amount of smoke, and every coughing fit jolts his broken wing painfully.

He collapses gracelessly onto the couch and Evie sends Rachel to find the medicine kit. He’s not sure there’s anything in there that will be useful for the shattered mess of bone Roth left him with.

“Miss Frye.”

Jacob doesn’t miss the look of relief on his sister’s face when Henry comes up behind her.

“Mr. Green. I don’t suppose you have any experience with patching broken bones?”

“A little,” he admits. “Though nothing so… extensive… as this.”

He looks Jacob up and down, taking in his burned and sodden clothing. With a sigh, he rolls up his sleeves and begins poking and prodding at the injury. It’s pure practicality, but Jacob can’t quite suppress a shiver, remembering how Roth had stroked his wings with such uncharacteristic gentleness. Jacob had never given him permission to touch, but he hadn’t pulled away either.

Despite everything, despite the blood he can still taste, Jacob momentarily wishes that Henry were touching him like that, and not simply because he is injured and needs care. He wonders if this is another curse Roth has left him with.

But, no. Jacob can be oblivious, but he knows who he is. Roth is hardly the first man he wanted, even if he was the first to reciprocate, or to make Jacob realize what that feeling really meant. Looking back, he remembers boys as far back as grammar school. How much of his youthful recklessness had been bids to impress boys without his own knowing it? He’d told himself that climbing a tree to rescue Emily Winters’ cat was different from sneaking into the cellar of the local pub to steal a beer for Liam O’Conall, and he’d never even bothered to think about why it was so important for him to make that distinction.

Even this attraction to Henry isn’t new. He wonders if Evie knows how jealous he is of her close relationship with the man. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t retaliated against his teasing with nearly the viciousness he knows she is capable of.

The thought that Evie might have understood something before he did himself stings a little, though he can't say he's ungrateful.

\--

His wing is still bandaged and splinted when they finally take down Starrick. Evie takes the man from the air, while Jacob stabs up from below. He’s already beginning to adjust to this grounded life, turning it to his advantage the way he does all things.

He looks away when Evie kisses Henry. He’ll be happy for her later. Right now, he’s too exhausted to be anything other than horribly jealous.

\--

Three months later, Jacob stands atop the train and flexes his wings. The left is still at a slightly odd angle. Henry says it will never be quite the same as it was. But his feathers have all grown back in, he hasn’t been in any real pain for weeks, and the splint came off yesterday. He’s been biding his time since then, waiting for Evie to leave off her hovering and strict insistence that he not do anything more than light stretches. She and Henry have been in her car loudly arguing the finer points of the Assassin code for the better part of an hour, and he’s not likely to get a better chance.

He knows she’s right to insist he wait, but he has to try this.

He takes a breath and leaps.

For a second, the air rushes past him and he’s afraid he made a terrible mistake.

Then, the instincts he’s trained since childhood kick in, and his wings catch him and propel him upward. His balance is off, and his muscles feel rusty with misuse, but he remains airborne. With a few more strokes, he glides down to a rocky landing.

The laughter that bubbles out of his throat sounds like a sob of relief.

Roth wanted to take everything from him. If he couldn’t have Jacob, he wanted to at least make sure Jacob was broken beyond repair.

But here he is.

Roth is dead, and Jacob is alive. He’s alive, and he can still fly. The wounds in his heart and his mind are still taking their slow time to heal, and he won’t be without scars, but he will be stronger for the injuries.

The wind ruffles his feathers like an old friend, and for the first time Jacob is truly certain that he will be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> So wingfic isn't normally my thing, but I've been doodling a bunch of winged Frye twins at work, so this happened.   
> I figure that in a society where humans having wings is a normal thing people wouldn't really draw too many comparisons to bird wings, so I deliberately avoided that in-story, but here's my headcanons for everyone's wings:  
> \- Jacob and Evie: Rooks (of course)  
> \- Henry: Golden Eagle  
> \- Roth: Common Cuckoo  
> \- Ned: Seagull  
> \- Lucy: Hawk


End file.
